Flying
I love dreams about flying. Last night, I dreamed that Calvin, Marie and I were in the back yard. I was spread eagle, parallel to the ground, floating. I used the breeze to waft higher into the air, and tilted my arms back and down to float low, close to the ground. There were pinecones inches from my nose (pinecones in the desert?), and then I’d swoop higher and gaze down on the sea of rooftops below me. Calvin and Marie were standing below, grinning up at me and thinking it was very cool that I could fly. I remember thinking in my dream, “The secret of flying is learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss,” (reference The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy).
As I floated higher, I looked at the horizon. There were puffy white clouds, and the lighting said “evening” to me. But as I gazed at the clouds, they gathered quickly and darkened, and started slowly swirling. The swirling quickened, and I realized I was watching a tornado forming. I remember thinking, “A tornado? We don’t get tornadoes in the Phoenix area!” I hollered to Calvin and Marie, and we all rushed into the house (I don’t know how I got down to the ground, though).
The house was dark, and it felt different than the house we live in now. Narrower hallways, windows where there should be none. I hollered at Calvin to wake up Marie (weren’t we all just in the back yard together?), and as he raced up the stairs, I told him to keep an eye out for the cat. I ushered the dogs down the stairs to the basement (basement? we don’t have one), and paused at the top of the stairs, looking across at a window. It was completely silent and still, then all of a sudden the window burst in and shattered. I scrambled down the stairs, and among the stuff down there was a box of books. The cat was sitting on top of it, calmly washing himself. I hollered back up the stairs, as Calvin and Marie started to make their way down, and said, “Never mind, here’s the cat!”
Then I woke up.
